The Return to CSI
by JellybeanChiChi
Summary: She's coming back? Without him? How could that be? Well, since you asked, I'll explain it for you. Rated T for some language.


A return to Vegas

A/N: Yet another in silly series of in the minds of CSI writers. Again. I'm rusty. Be kind. Rewind.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except memories. Beautiful memories of a man with his hands in his pockets. Oh, and this isn't beta'd. Mea culpa for the mistakes.

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The whoosh of the machete through the brush made Philip Beck feel like Indiana Jones.

But the mosquito and spider bites up and down his arms and calves made him feel like a fleshy, itchy, dorky pin cushion.

What the writer didn't do for his beloved show.

"I cannot fucking believe," Beck said as he brushed yet another, huge, green leaf that looked like every other fucking green leaf they encountered on their walk from the boat, "that we put them in this mess. Why the fuck did we write them in the Costa Rican jungle?"

"Timeshares for the executive producer," said Beck's assistant, merely one in a string of dozens of assistants since Beck became a head writer on a hit show. What was the assistant's name? Something German or Austrian or Bahamian or Samoan? Well something "an"-based.

"Right," Beck replied. "Give Costa Rica some air time, and he gets kickback from those timeshares. Good to know thoughtful and logical storylines work the bottom line."

"Let's just try to find them," said "An," the assistant.

Suddenly Beck stopped and turned to his right. "I heard something."

"Should I call out their names?"

"No. It might scare them off. Let's give them something that reminds them of less complicated times. Something a little less unnerving. Pass me that Wang Chung CD."

But before he could pop the CD into the boom box, the two people they searched for appeared in front of them.

"Dr. Grissom, I presume."

"Oh shit," said the handsome man of 5 foot 11 inches with much resignation. "This can't be good if you're here."

"PHILIP!" exclaimed the female of the duo who offered Beck a big hug. "It is soooo good to see you! Isn't it good to see him, 'big guy'?"

The "big guy" in question just sighed and cross his arms across his chest... ah what the hell... his bare chest. He's smart enough to wear sunscreen with DEET. "Great to see you Philip. Now, when you leaving?"

"Look, I know you've been here for a while. You both look good. How are you holding up?"

Before he could let out a clipped "fine," the brunette piped up. "I'm ready to blow this popsicle stand. I mean, I've won every surfing contest in the whole freaking country..."

"That would be one," said the "big guy."

"What have I told you about interrupting? You want me to rub that green stuff between your legs while you're sleeping tonight?"

"No. Not again."

"OK then," she shifted her attention back to Beck. "Like I said, I've surfed enough, saw enough nature shit, did some PSAs about animals... did you know that spitting guanacos are actually teased by the locals in Chile? They make jokes about the poor, sensitive animals. Absolutely intolerable. ... But now, the two of us spend a lot of time dodging them."

"Them?" Beck said hoping his interruption wouldn't give him an itchy rash.

"Those other writers," the "big guy" said. "They've been really just brutal lately."

"Yeah. It's been bad," she said. "How many babies can one woman birth? According to these people, my uterus is the size of Wisconsin, and Superman over here can take a beating better than a smartass American wearing a 'SOCCER SUCKS' t-shirt at an English futbol match."

"It's true," said the "big guy." "My knee's been replaced so many times, the joint looks like something you find on a freakin' GI Joe action figure. And not the authentic ones. The ones you get at the dollar store."

"Sounds tough," Beck said sympathetically. "So, you two ready to go to work maybe?"

Her face lit up. "Hell yes I want to get out of here!"

"OK," Beck said, most pleased with the response. "We need a plan. A reason for you to come back."

"Wait a minute," said the "big guy." "Why would she come back? For Christ's sake, she left there twice. She didn't even say goodbye the second time. She pretty much left like a bitch."

"GIL!"

"Sorry, honey, but that's what people said."

"What people?"

"Umm... people... with a vagina... and a considerable amount of Botox."

"OK. Don't hurt yourself. I get it."

"Her forehead keeps getting bigger. She scares me," he whispers to her.

"I'd say grow a set, but if you did, you couldn't stand up straight, so just... don't worry about it," she said.

"Well, I'm not sure I want to go back just yet," the "big guy" said timidly. "I think if I change my name, I can stay hidden from them. What do you think of the name 'Ray?' NO! Wait. 'Peter.'"

"Look, White Pages, I'm freaking going now, with or without you," she said before turning her attention back to Beck. "So, what's this plan?"

Beck batted yet another bug from the back of his neck before responding. "I'm not quite sure. I mean, he does have a point about you. But that doesn't mean we can't figure something out."

"Well, I still don't understand how anyone's going to reason her going back, especially without me," said the "big guy."

"Maybe there is some unfinished business with a case," said "An," the assistant.

"Been there. Done that." All three exclaimed in unison.

They all stood in silence before her face lit up one more time. "GOT IT!"

"What?" Beck said with excitement.

"Two words -- Lorena Bobbitt."

"What?!" the "big guy" said with fear. This woman was a manhunter and he was her prey.

"I killed him. Went crazy. And the whole story arc revolves around the idea of why I did come back without him. Why would she come back? Where was he? Why is she constantly whistling salsa music when she uses a knife? All these things can be part of the story arc until it comes to the head that she went a little crazy, cut off his junk -- no offense sweetie -- and came back to Vegas as part of some bizarre pilgrimage."

"You want to cut off my dick?" he asked as he subconsciously covered his manhood. Did I mention he wasn't wearing pants? Ah, what the hell. He wasn't wearing pants, so he had to subconsciously cover his manhood... with both hands... And one of hers. "Why would you cut off my dick?"

"I don't know," she said as she paced and fiddled with her fingers. Since five of her fingers fiddled while upon his manhood, he began to smile as she continued to talk. "I know. Maybe you were having some hot affair with a native girl."

"Well, I mean, you didn't lose it when you suspected I had an affair with Lady Heather," he reasoned.

"You're right," she said. "Well, what if the native girl was forbidden. Like she was 12 years old. That's a good reason to cut off you dick."

"WHAT?!" he said incredulously. "I would never dream of acting like that!"

"Look, if we're going to get out of Chez Buggyville, we're going to have to be creative," she said.

He sighed. It was cute. "Well, could that particular scene be done with prosthetics?"

"We would need a whole lot of prosthetics for that," she said with a smile.

He blushed. It was cute. "That's so sweet, dear."

Beck stood there and had that familiar bottom of the stomach bad idea feeling. Maybe this was too out there. "Let me get this straight. You go crazy and cut off his dick, for some reason not yet determined. He dies and you come to Vegas as like a pilgrimage to the homeland. Everyone wonders why you are there and where is he, and it comes to light that you killed the king of forensics. ... Then what happens?"

"Greg shoots her," the "big guy" piped up, which garnered a glare from her. "What? You cut off my dick why can't Greg shoot you? He needs the screen time."

"Yeah, but shooting the woman he loves?"

"Loves? Just because he might have masturbated by your locker why you took a shower doesn't necessarily mean he loves you."

Even the bugs stopped chirping after that comment was made. "How would you know…" she started before shaking her head and stopping her train of thought. "You know what, I don't want to know, just leaves more reason for the extreme circumcism."

"We definitely can't call it that," Beck said.

As the "big guy," the brunette and Beck argued about the ridiculous and the sublime, "An" had something to say.

"Maybe she just comes back for the dog."

The trio turned their heads. "The dog?" they all said.

"Jesus, is it still alive?" she asked.

"Who's been feeding it?" asked her other half.

"It's a pretty simple solution," Beck said.

"There is no involvement of salsa music or prick termination," the "big guy" reasoned.

"So, I guess I'll go find the fucking dog," she said with resignation.

"Great. I'm going back to civilization to make arrangements," Beck said, happy that his stomach was no longer in knots.

Beck and "An" left the way they came, leaving the couple standing in their spots. When she sighed, only the "big guy" heard her.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know."

"You're going to miss this place?"

"Yeah, I guess..."

"That's not it, is it?"

She sighed. He thought it was cute. "It's just..."

"What?" he asked with a smile as one of his hands caressed her cheek. Even his manhood peeked up to see what was wrong.

"I was really looking forward to cutting off your dick."

Even as the blood drained from his face and his manhood retreated quicker than a six year old sprinting to the toilet after finishing his and his two brother's super Big Gulps, dammit if the "big guy" still didn't look cute.

END

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A/N: Is it OK to feel a lit If you don't feel like putting up a review, how about a shout out to the hardest working fill-in character of JBCC's stuff -- Philip Beck! I think this is his ninth appearance, and you'll see him again in the next piece, a definitely unfunny case file, but Phil's excited because he'll play a doctor.


End file.
